The Craigslist Murders - Brenda Cullerton [71]
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Hunkering down in the house, Charlotte drank cup after cup of neat espresso. Philip had left another message. But she hadn’t returned his call. The Ativans had left a weird coppery taste in her mouth and her head felt leaden. When the newscaster on Channel 1 announced the beginning of the live press conference, she barely noticed when her Herend cup slipped from her fingers and crashed into pieces on the floor. Perched on the edge of her chair, she increased the volume and watched as the police commissioner took his place in front of a microphone. The mayor stood to his left along with several other men and a woman.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming. Just a word of warning before I bring you up to date on our investigation. I will not be taking any questions until after I have finished speaking. So please, do not interrupt me.”
“As you are no doubt aware, Mrs. Gina Craven survived a vicious attack in her Tribeca loft on Tuesday afternoon and is currently in intensive care at Beth Israel Hospital. Doctors believe that she will make a full recovery but that she is in no condition for police questioning at this time …”
Charlotte could hear the buzz from reporters as the commissioner raised his hand for silence.
“I can tell you, however, that she was able to share a few significant details about her alleged attacker. Described as a female—”
An ear-splitting chorus of voices rose in the room as reporters leapt to their feet shouting, “Commissioner!” “Commissioner!”
“Sit! Sit!” the commissioner said in the firm no-nonsense voice used by dog trainers.
“Sit and I will finish. Otherwise …”
The reporters sat.
“As I was saying, the suspect is described as a Caucasian female with green eyes, between 5′ 7″ and 5′ 10″ tall and weighing approximately 130 pounds. She was last seen wearing black workout attire, a quilted black parka, a fur hat, and carrying a green yoga mat. A sketch of this suspect will be circulated around the city later this afternoon.”
A reporter in the front row bolted to his feet.
The commissioner’s command: “Heel, Ben, heel!” brought raucous laughter from the room. “What is it?”
“Sorry, commissioner. But half the women in this town walk around in workout attire, carrying yoga mats. What about the kid? Wasn’t there a kid at the house?”
“The victim’s son is four years old. He has just witnessed the attempted murder of his mother.”
“Sorry, sorry!” came the flippant response from Ben Volpone. “But surely …”
“When the child’s family determines that the he is ready to help, we will proceed. Next question,” the commissioner added, making a point of ignoring Ben’s wild arm-waving and nodding at a woman from the Times. “Go ahead, Jill.”
“Thank you, sir. I’d like to ask about the Craigslist connection. Was Mrs. Craven selling something?”
“Yes, she had posted an ad for some Tiffany silver …”
“Can you tell us anything about the other victims? Do you have specific evidence or proof that links them with Craigslist and the attack on Mrs. Webb?”
“It’s an ongoing investigation, Jill. So I’m not going to comment at length on that. Suffice it to say, there is a definite connection between Craigslist and the other murders. For more information, I’m sure the Post’s unnamed sources will be able to fill you in.”
There were snorts of quiet laughter throughout the room.
The mayor took the mic. “I would just like to add that I am certain members of the press,” he cast a laser-like stare at Ben Volpone, “will respect the family and the victim’s need for privacy at this time.”
Eager to have the last word, Volpone leapt to his feet. “Sir, sir! Why wasn’t the public informed about the Craigslist connection, earlier? It might have saved …”
“We had posted our own ad, Ben. We were monitoring the site.”
“Still …”
“No further questions,” the mayor said, turning to the commissioner and